


Polaroid

by queenrosemilktea (WASTEDink)



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Soap and Price are hipsters probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:39:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WASTEDink/pseuds/queenrosemilktea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Photography is a part of Price's everyday life. He takes photos of his breakfast, of the street he lives on—and, he takes pictures of Soap. He decides to take one more photo to add to his collection.</p><p>Set after the events of MW3 in a domestic/everybody lives AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polaroid

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that the majority of the fic written for Soap and Price is written by the same person who's been MIA for years is unacceptable.
> 
> I should really be getting to Call of Honor but this is a nice little break.
> 
> (Also you know for a fact that Price is the type of person to use a Polaroid.)
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (I can't wait for the Modern Warfare remaster~~~~)

He was a beautiful sight.

Stretched out on the bed with the ivory comforter barely covering him, bathing in the sunlight that spilled in from the open window, Soap was a beautiful sight. His bare chest rose and fell slowly with each breath he took, his lips slightly parted as he sighed and turned his head towards the open window, eyes closed. His tattooed left arm was sprawled out beside him, hand hanging off the bed, while his right arm was draped loosely over his torso, fingers brushing against the comforter that covered everything below his hips. One leg also hung over the edge of the bed, sticking out from the fluffy comforter, the Scotsman letting it dangle as he relaxed, enjoying the sunlight and the silence while it lasted.

Price almost didn’t want to disturb him. Almost. The older Englishman was sitting in the bed beside Soap, looking down at his relaxed lover. Despite the deep sort of peace he was in, Soap was very much awake; that much Price knew. Currently, Price was debating whether he should lie here and let Soap rest some more, or kiss him and rouse him from his deeply relaxed state. Truthfully, Price was content with lying here in the sunlight with his partner; the silence and the peace were too much of a blessing to pass up.

Still, Price wanted to do  _ something. _ It was late in the morning, and the Englishman wasn’t one for lazing around in bed all day. He did enjoy silence and peace and  _ nothingness _ , at least for a while, but he was an active man by nature. He had to engage in _some_ activity; preferably, with his lover. But Price didn’t want to disturb Soap’s peace, at least not too much—and, truth be told, the sight before him was, indeed, beautiful.

_ Why not preserve it, then? _

Price’s attention turned to the camera sitting on the nightstand, which stood at his side of the bed. It was a Polaroid, a beaten little thing that Soap had gotten for Price’s birthday. The thing never left Price’s person, the Englishman taking pictures of almost everything throughout each day. He had countless photos of little things; his shoes, his morning coffee, his pack of cigars. There was even a picture of his toothbrush from the day he first opened it. And, of course, there were hundreds of pictures of Soap. How could there not be? Soap was his world, his love, the one person who kept Price going. Price used to have so few pictures of Soap, but after everything that’s happened between them—after every time Price almost lost him—Price wanted to make sure that he never ran out of photos of Soap.

Price decided that he might as well add one more photo to the collection.

Price turned and reached for the Polaroid on the night stand, checking it to make sure everything was in order before he turned his attention back to Soap. The younger man let out a deep sigh, his hand travelling lower and fingers curling in the soft comforter. Price shifted closer to the Scotsman, angling the camera over him and peering through the preview window. After a few seconds, Price took the photo, the camera letting out a  _ click _ and a whirr as it processed the new picture.

Soap opened one eye, peering up at Price as the older man pulled the new photo from the Polaroid and started to shake it. “You never put that thing away, do you?” Soap mumbled, his Scottish brogue running thick; he was awake, but still a bit drowsy, it seemed. Price twisted around and set the Polaroid back down on the nightstand before turning back to Soap and smirking down at him, holding up the new photo.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Price asked, Soap responding to the question with a grin.

“Nope.”

“Good.” Careful so as to not to crush the photo, Price leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against Soap’s cheek, the Scotsman letting out a low hum as he did so. Soap turned his head so that his lips met Price’s in a soft kiss, the two men drawing away after a moment. Price felt Soap’s eyes on him as he turned and placed the photo down next to the Polaroid, the Scot’s right hand reaching up and resting against Price’s arm.

“You’re not getting up, are you?” Soap asked, his hand slowly stroking along Price’s arm. Price looked down at the Scotsman, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of Soap gazing back up at him. His blue eyes, framed by dark lashes and thick brows, were so bright and clear, the sunlight bringing out the depth in them. Soap blinked slowly up at Price, his hand slowly grasping Price’s arm as if asking him not to go.

“I was thinking about it…” Price murmured, reaching up and placing his hand atop Soap’s. After a few moments, Price grasped Soap’s hand in his own as he laid down, fingers locking with the Scotsman’s. “But maybe I’ll stay. Just a little while longer.”

Soap smiled, the expression soft and genuine and making him look years younger. “Good,” he whispered, and pulled Price closer for a kiss.


End file.
